


the psychedelic canvas of the person i'm becoming

by awordbroken



Series: [cliff&larry] [2]
Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, M/M, im so fucking sorry, the author is emo and projects a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awordbroken/pseuds/awordbroken
Summary: the first time cliff says 'i love you' isn't pleasant for either of them.





	the psychedelic canvas of the person i'm becoming

**Author's Note:**

> TW for: internalised homophobia, homophobia, the q-slur, christianity.

[ACT 1]

 

Sometimes, Larry doesn’t bother to get out of his bandages before going to bed. He lies there, dirty clothes and dirtier boots, but can’t really bring himself to care. Today, it's restless tossing and turning until he can’t stand it anymore. Keeg is quiet for once. He heaves himself up and trudges downstairs.

The TV is on. He’s not alone.

Larry can't really feel much but shame anymore when his heart skips a beat at the sight of Cliff. He acknowledges it with bitterness and buries it deeper down.

The soft glow of the TV screen is reflecting off Cliff when he looks up in surprise. “Oh, it’s you. Couldn’t sleep either?”

Larry shrugs. “I guess not.” He settles himself a careful distance away from Cliff. Not quite at the other end of the couch. He tries to concentrate on whatever movie was on without much success. (One of Rita’s? The figure kind of resembles her if he thinks hard enough.) There’s a dull noise in the background. A buzz. Not from the movie, he thinks.

Cliff finally nudges him, and Larry blinks. Sound rushes back into him.

“...Sorry, were you saying something?” Larry tugs at his right sleeve and pulls his gloves further down.

“I was asking if you were okay. You were just kind of, uh.” Cliff pauses to make a vague gesture in Larry’s direction. “I don’t know, you just seemed kinda off. Also, the movie ended five minutes ago.”

Larry glares down at his own hands. The distant buzz of a white noise is back and he can’t hear himself speak.  “I can take care of myself, Cliff. You can stop being concerned about me. Why would you even care?”

Cliff turns his body to completely face him. The glow of his eyes is brighter than usual. “Why do I-- of course I care, you’re my friend! This just keeps on happening, over and over, you in this weird state of not responding to anything! I have every fucking reason to be worried about you and your shitty moods-”

“-Cliff, if you don't quiet down, you're going to wake the others up-”

“-And, fuck! I love you, alright? _I love you,_ Larry!”

Cliff flinches back into the couch, realising what he just said. A second passes. He tries to say something else, but instead stutters into silence.

Larry doesn’t respond. Not for a long while. He can’t think or speak while surrounded by the static, not distant anymore at all.

He notes the freezing temperature.

“Get out,” says Larry, monotone falling flat against the cold air. Even if he tried, he can’t see anything through his swimming vision.

Something like an approximation of a whimper leaves Cliff. “...Larry? Larry, I’m sorry, that was stupid, I wasn’t thinking. I.. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorr-”

“I said get out.”

Cliff gets out.

 

[INTERLUDE]

 

It’s Larry’s 13th birthday and all he can do is cry himself to sleep.

He’s clinging to his toy plane with all his strength, but all his strength could never be enough to face the whispers behind his back.

He closes his eyes. Curls into a ball.

 _theressomethingwrongwithoursonithinkhesaqueer_  
_  
_ The moonlight casts stained lucency on Larry’s trembling hands as he frantically shakes his head against the memory. He chokes on a sob. Larry saw the disappointment in his parents’ faces, he felt their disgust when they spit out that word like some kind of a disease.

And he doesn’t want it; he doesn’t want to be any that. _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

He drops the plane and rubs at his eyes harder. He doesn’t want it. _He doesn’t want it--_

“I’m not a qu-,” Larry gags on his own words. “ _I’m not_ .” He covers his mouth as another pitiful sob threatens to get out.  
He presses his head into the pillow and waits out the tears until the first hints of dawn.

 

[ACT 2]

 

The next morning, Rita finds him staring at the static on TV.

“You’re up early today,” Rita says as she turns it off. She frowns when she’s met with nothing. “Or maybe not. So you fell asleep like this, fine.”

She moves to wake Larry up. It takes all her repressed instincts to not appear _too_ startled when he visibly recoils. “Rita,” he mumbles out in acknowledgment. He’s never felt more glad for the bandages covering his face.

Rita steps back to assess the situation. Cliff’s unusual silence today was one thing, and this another.  
It was easy enough to connect the dots.

“Lawrence, you really are an idiot.”

Larry doesn't disagree, so he doesn't attempt to defend himself. He knows that. Of course he does.

With a sigh, Rita sits next to him. “I’m guessing that something went wrong between you and Cliff. And I’m guessing that what went wrong is your stubborn inability to accept others’ love.”

Larry lets out a sharp breath, confirming her theory. Rita is torn between wanting to comfort her oldest and closest friend - protecting him not only because she knows he'll do the same - and wanting to do something very bad. Probably to slap him.

She rubs at the side of her face out of habit. “You can't make someone hurt only because _you're_ too afraid of getting hurt. Maybe I’m not the best person to lecture you, but you're being incredibly selfish, Larry.” She takes his hand. “I don't know what exactly happened, but I know you love him. So don't hurt Cliff like this. Please.”

“He hates me,” Larry manages to get out. Strained and faint. “After that.”

Rita thinks she has too much restraint sometimes. “The only thing Cliff hates is himself.” They both know this applies to Larry as well. “Now _go_ before I lose my patience.”

He closes his eyes for a few minutes and lets the hundred scenarios play out. Words. There are words he can say and he practises them silently before getting up.  
There's a dull pain somewhere in his bones. Rita looks exhausted despite having just woken up.

When he finds Cliff, he's at the end of the hallway. Fetal position, cracked wall behind him.

Guilt. Larry tugs at his sleeves a few times. The buzz is absent.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence is once again a reigning theme. Larry fights against the urge to turn away and run.  

Cliff isn't looking at anything in particular when he speaks, tone resigned. There’s rust in his voice.“Look, it’s-- I understand. I understand why you did that, I wouldn’t love me either.” He makes himself smaller, going against his bigger presence. “Just… just say it. So I can move on. Say that you don’t love me. Please.”

And Larry erodes himself into an empty nothing because he _can’t_ ; he can't tell Cliff that he loves him with every fiber of his being. There’s a delta running into him, deposing self-doubt and fear and grief, the very same one that yearns for more but can't. He can't, he _can't_ , because if he dares to have happiness again it’ll all come to a vicious end. He knows there's no other path for him.

He can't.

He hears Rita’s words replaying like a broken record. Lets them pass by.

“I’m sorry,” Larry repeats. “I’m sorry.”

Cliff lowers his head. He takes the words and interprets the sentiment. “Okay.”

 

[PROLOGUE]

 

His parents take him to a church every Sunday. He doesn't want to go, but he knows he doesn't really have a choice.

The pastor’s voice is horribly loud, and Larry wants to hide. Away from him, away from his parents, away from anyone he ever knew. He hugs himself, sitting on a cold bench. The pastor never stops talking.

Larry always knows what's coming in the end. He will recite the verse from the Bible, and Larry will feel his parents’ distrustful stare. Because they know. They know Larry tried so so hard to suppress all the _sinful_ and _wrong_ thoughts, and they know he couldn't. No matter how raw his throat is from crying so many nights.

He tries to distract himself. He looks around the church and counts every guttered candle flickering like a false star. Logically, he knows that fire is hot, he touched it before, but he thinks that here the candle fire is cold.

The pastor’s voice is loud. He can’t hear anything else.

_(you shall not lie with another man)_

Loud. Buzzing. He can’t hear it. It’s so loud.

Larry knows it won't ever be better.

**Author's Note:**

> and once again big thanks to @frogforest over at tunblr because theres no way id have finished this without his ideas :/ the ending is my fault but also fuck you, bucky. fuck y


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